They’ve switched Santa off for the night,
leaving a muffled shape
among the harbour lights.
The pubs are mute:
press gangs no longer roam
through alleys bent
down to the water’s edge,
to hunt their own reflections.
King William’s statue reigns
where history was built
among the gulls and chip-papers;
A sailing trawler waits
for time’s return
beside its hi-tech cousins.
And sleeping townsfolk trust
morning will come
with long bright fingers
to undo the dark,
revealing a different ending.
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